Very disappointing...

Instead, you get a movie that's enjoyable enough, but leaves you feeling like it could have been much, much more.

Tells a fascinating and unsettling true story, and does so well, without pretending to have all the answers.

There is, somehow, an interesting story here, as well as some good acting. There are also some good scenes

The bored, lonely wife of a retirement-home physician in North Carolina dreams up an adult embodiment of the baby boy taken away from her when she was an unmarried teenager who got knocked-up at the county fair; her husband, a train enthusiast, has no patience with his wife's melancholia (he's cheating with his lascivious nurse), while the young man stands in not only as her now-grown child but also as a representative of her anger and isolation. Disconnected filmmaker Nicolas Roeg predictably provides no simple solutions for our heroine, and screenwriter Dennis Potter (who would seem to be the perfect movie-companion for Roeg) merrily keeps the inscrutable scenario on a schizophrenic track. This isn't the weirdest movie to come from either Roeg or Potter--the film, in fact, is one of Roeg's more accessible entries--but very few of the details or ideas come to fruition (such as the wife always being dressed in lavender, or her fetish for cartoons and dolls). Gary Oldman, just off "Sid and Nancy" where he played Sid Vicious, seems stuck in a revolving door of violent angst and aggression (only in a later scene, at the piano, does he show some charm), while Christopher Lloyd (as Henry Henry--sort of an update of Humbert Humbert) relies far too much on his rubbery facial expressions. In the lead, Theresa Russell works hard at conveying her character's inner-demons; in the vivid flashback scenes to her youth, she makes a terrific impression just by using her faraway eyes and smile. However, Russell never gets her little-girl twang quite right--her voice sounds disembodied--and her temper tantrums aren't shaped and have no comic pay-off (which is the fault of the director, who turns a blind eye). After the perverse-glossiness of something like 1986's "Blue Velvet", the scrubby ordinariness of "Track 29" is disappointing and dispiriting (it was shot by Alex Thomson, who has worked with Roeg before). Roeg, a brilliant cinematographer in his youth, only gets a kinetic vibe going in those flashbacks to the fairgrounds. Aside from those startling early shots and some stray funny moments, "Track 29" seems to lose its way awfully soon, and the apocalyptic final act is simply a mess. *1/2 from ****

Linda is a bored housewife whose husband shows no interest in her. She wants a child and is haunted by the memory of the baby she was forced to give up from a teenage pregnancy. But when a strange young man named Martin suddenly appears, claiming to be her long lost son, is he who he seems to be, or is she starting to lose her mind ?I really like movies about the strangeness of the mother-son relationship (Psycho, The Manchurian Candidate) and this, from the pen of the brilliantly perverse Dennis Potter, is possibly the strangest. Its clever touch is in never explaining the Oldman character; he probably only exists in Russell's head, but equally he might be real, or he might be just a calculating psychopath (Potter used the same idea in Brimstone And Treacle, where the character is also called Martin). But as a metaphor for both Oedipal repression and the desire not to grow up (slyly mirrored in Lloyd's obsession with toy trains), he is endlessly fascinating and Oldman's histrionic performance is sensational. Russell too is amazing, in an impossible part, playing the whole movie with her eyebrows lowered quizzically, and the sexual tension between her and Oldman is incredible. Purists may claim their ages are wrong - he's too old and she's too young - but they are perfect casting, and Lloyd and Bernhard provide great wacky support, almost as if they are in a separate movie of their own. I love all the witty maternal references in this movie; it starts with John Lennon's song Mother (he was raised mostly by an aunt), the trucker's tattoos, at one point Oldman mashes a knife into an egg and at another he plays the old traditional song M-O-T-H-E-R on the piano, the clips from the erotically-charged Cape Fear on TV, etc. Beautifully shot by Alex Thomson throughout, with all sorts of clever visual tricks to keep us guessing at the characters' mental states. Produced by Rick McCallum (of Star Wars fame), funded by George Harrison's Handmade Films and shot at the DeLaurentiis Entertainment Group studios in North Carolina. This is a great primal scream of a movie, in equal parts bamboozling, funny and thought-provoking, with one-of-a-kind performances; a film for all mothers and sons to see, although probably best not together. This was the fourth of Roeg's six intriguing movies with his former wife Russell, and for my money their best one together (although they both made better films separately).

Track 29 begins with the image of Gary Oldman appearing out of thin air - he appears by the side of the road with his thumb stretched out. Then after a while he screams, like a banshee, 'Mummmmmmeeeeeeeee!' Er, okay. We've got a weird one here.One of the first hints that the film gives you about the nature of Oldman's character, aside from his entrance, is some dialogue on a television show. We hear, as Theresa Russell works out, that two or more things can apparently inhabit the same area at the same time, co-existing in parallel dimensions. O-kay. And then later, after Oldman has convinced Russell that he's her son, a son that she gave up at birth, we find out that other people can't even see him. Right, so she's mad and all of this is in her head. Fine.But with this gimmick do we learn anything of interest about Russell's character? Do we feel the pain she felt at having to give up her child? No, not really. The film is nothing more than a silly freak show, a film where young men act like retarded children, where old men act like pathetic perverts and where southern belles toss their hair about like crazy. This film tells you next to nothing about the human condition.One of the most amazing things about Track 29 is Oldman's performance. He plays Martin like a hyperactive manchild. He screams and he spazzes and he almost foams at the mouth. There's no restraint, no subtlety. He chews the scenery like crazy. But even though it's incredibly over the top, it is amusing. At one point he even takes Russell's diaphragm and puts it to his mouth and begins to talk through it, using it as a second mouth. These silly moments are the only pleasure that's to be found in this dire film.And it's always amusing whenever Oldman begins screaming or talking like an over-sized child (which he does with great regularity). He berates his mother, comes on to her and at one point even blows a raspberry at a painting of Lloyd after drawing a moustache on it. But there's a scene in a restaurant where he begins pouting that is even funnier. He says, 'You never kissed it better.' 'Kissed what better?' his mother replies. There's a brief pause, and you know Martin is thinking about his penis, and he then says, 'My knee'. It would be queasy if it wasn't so ridiculous.But Martin isn't the only ridiculous character. Christopher Lloyd plays Dr Henry Henry, Russell's husband. He's a man who spends all his spare time playing with toy trains and who likes to be spanked by one of his nurses. And to make it worse, the nurse is played by Sandra Bernhard. Even Satan himself couldn't have created a more hideous image than Bernhard spanking Lloyd's exposed buttocks with red rubber gloves as both of them mug the camera with orgasmic glee. It's the sort of sight that makes you want to pour disinfectant into your eyes to remove the stain.However, Lloyd's character is a sidenote. Russell and Oldman are the focus. And what horrible event could have screwed Russell up to such an extent that she's making up people in her own head? Well, when she was a kid she was shagged in the bushes by a tattooed carnie, a carnie who looks exactly like her son. Okay, so that would mess you up pretty bad, but please, there must be a better actress than Russell to communicate the pain of the event. When she talks or thinks about it, all she can do is toss her hair, clench her fists and squeal through gritted teeth. There's no depth to her character at all.But the film does try and provide some complexity by not providing a clear answer as to whether this was rape or just rough sex - she says no as the carnie rips her clothes off, but once he's on her she begins shouting yes and encouraging him. And the entire flashback occurs as her 'son' squeals with excitement as he asks her to tell more of the story. But the film never adequately explores Russell's emotions. She's screwed up and that's that.And you can feel the film running out of ideas. At the end the film suddenly tries to turn into a thriller. Ooh, look at Martin destroy Henry's train set like Godzilla. Ooh, where did Martin go? Oh, there he is, he's jumped naked onto Henry and is stabbing him to death. Great. Oh, but seeing as Martin doesn't really exist, it never really happened...did it? The end of the film sees Russell all spruced up and apparently ready to get own with a new life, one without Henry. But even though we continually hear him call her, the question still remains as to whether he's still alive - one of the final images is of blood spreading over the surface of the ceiling. Yes Martin didn't kill Henry, but prior to this death scene we see Russell walking up the stairs with a knife. Maybe she killed him and maybe the voice of Henry is in her head. But what does it matter? Either way the film says the same thing: isn't it terrible when you get nailed by a tattooed carnie as a kid and your child is taken away, and isn't it awful when your husband plays with toy trains and you aren't sexually compatible. Yes, terrible fates both of them, but both made terribly uninteresting by horrible acting and direction.

Nowhere else is Roeg's filmmaking as elemental and visceral as it is in Track. Black comedy is an inadequate label, for certain. "Models" and their uses and abuses are examined in the film. It is almost as gut wrenching to watch Christopher Llyod being spanked by Sandra Bernhardt as it is to watch Ricky and his mother in <Better Off Dead>. Oldman lends his untamed (yet not quite perfected) style to a film that would be richly sleek even without him.